


The Apocalypse Will Go On As Scheduled

by theladywinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mystery Spot (Supernatural) Fusion, Angel Character Death, Apocalypse, Dark, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, Nothing like my other stuff, Other, Psychological Torture, Season/Series 03, Seriously not sure where this one came from, Torture, Wing removal, references to character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladywinchester/pseuds/theladywinchester
Summary: Written for a prompt asking for AUs where a character died/stayed dead and how it might change the timeline. In a well-meaning attempt to avert the Apocalypse, Gabriel doesn't bring Dean back at the end of "Mystery Spot" (S3E11). Fate has other plans.





	1. Prologue ("Mystery Spot" Revised Ending)

_ “Pretty good, though, Sam. Smart. Let me tell you, whoever said Dean was the dysfunctional one has never seen you with a sharp object in your hands.” The Trickster barked a short laugh, waving the bloody stake for emphasis. “Holy ‘Full Metal Jacket’.” _

_ Sam ignored him. “Bring him back.” _

_ “Who, Dean? Didn't my girl send you the flowers? Dean's dead. He ain't coming back. His soul's downstairs doing the hellfire rumba as we speak.” _

_ “Just take us back to that Tuesday. Or Wednesday, when it all started, please,” the human pleaded. “We won't come after you, I swear.” _

_ The Trickster looked skeptical. “You swear?”  _

_ “Yes.” _

_ An almost tangible ambivalence settled on the demigod’s shoulders. “I don't know. Even if I could--” _

_ “You can.” _

_ “True, but that don't mean I should. Sam there's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish, Cro-Magnon skull of yours.” _

_ Sam was confused at that. “Lesson? What lesson?”  _

_ “This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain.” The Trickster’s expression was somewhere between frustrated and sympathetic. “Dean's your weakness--the bad guys know it too. He's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go.” _

_ “He's my brother,” Sam responded, the only reason he needed to pursue this madness. _

_ “Yup. And like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without him.” _

_ Desperation, thick and absolute, tightened Sam’s chest. “Please,” he pleaded. “Just...please.” _

_ Throwing up his hands, The Trickster rounded on Sam and closed the space between them. “I swear, it's like talking to a brick wall. How many languages do I have to say it in, Sam? The answer is--and will always be, forever and ever amen--no.” Golden eyes softened. “I’m sorry, kid. It just has to be this way.” _


	2. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be darkness. Seriously, if you've read any of my other stuff, this is WAAAY different. Not to spoiler too much, but there are references to characters being tortured and killed "off-screen" and one instance of thoughts of self-harm.
> 
> I feel like I tagged and warned for everything, but if you think I missed something important, please let me know.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

Lucifer’s voice startled Sam from his not-sleep and demanded his attention.  _ What? _

A low, rumbling chuckle was all he got from the fallen angel before Sam’s... _ spirit? soul? consciousness?  _ was yanked forward just enough to be able to see through his-- _ their? _ \--eyes.

Taking in the scenery, Sam longed for the slightly-less depressing solace of his little corner of existence somewhere in his old body. Currently, Lucifer was holding court in an abandoned prop and scenery warehouse somewhere on the Jersey side of the Sandy Hook Bay. Standing on the front steps, Sam could clearly see the steaming heap of death and destruction that had been Manhattan. 

If he’d had a body, Sam would have shuddered in disgust. 

But he didn’t. He never would again.

As it was, Lucifer just made a pleased little hum before turning and entering through the heavy metal door. Sam caught a brief glance of his-- _ their _ \--reflection in the window on the door before they moved completely inside: face smiling from ear to ear, dimples at full wattage.

If he’d had a hand, Sam would have punched that smug grin right off their face.

Lucifer started whistling tunelessly as he strutted down a long aisle lined with boxes before emerging into a wide-open space. Like a little kid, he’d insisted on using all of the medieval props he’d found to set up a replica throne room for him. Before he’d even finished giving the orders, his slaves and sycophants started diving into boxes and crates and set about filling his every whim. 

The angel paused a moment to take in the beings before him, and certain they were all properly obedient to his ever-changing will, made his way to the large dais against the wall that held his throne. It was a garish thing done up in cheap gold paint, but it didn’t disturb Sam nearly as much as the trophies Lucifer hung on the wall behind it.

Three pairs of wings housed in enormous shadow boxes drew the eyes of anyone in the room. On the left hung Raphael’s dull bronze wings. Lucifer had dispatched him first, easily disposing of his brother during another of Heaven’s raids on Hell. Dozens of angels already slaughtered trying to retrieve Dean Winchester’s soul, and Raphael had still believed he’d succeed where so many others had failed. Lucifer’s unholy glee at his brother’s demise still haunted Sam.

The place of honor in the center belonged to a pristine white pair that had been Michael’s. Sam could still remember how it had felt to rip those bare-handed from the archangel’s still body after their long battle came to its bloody end. Despite it all, Sam had still harbored hope that Lucifer would be defeated, ready to welcome his own death if it meant an end to the Morning Star’s rampage. The sickening crunch of bones snapping killed that for him.

The golden pair on the right, though...those hurt Sam the worst. As if summoned by his musing, Gabriel appeared from one of the offices to the right of the dais. He was carrying a tray holding a large bottle of demon blood, eyes lowered, shoulders slumped. Defeat was written over every fiber of the former-Trickster’s being.

Thinking back on his dream, Sam dredged up what sympathy was still left to him and gave it all to the pitiful creature now bowing at the bottom of the steps. It had been a shock, finding out The Trickster that he thought had ruined his life was really an archangel. When he found out why Gabriel killed Dean, well…

If Sam had had knees, they would have given way in shock.

Gabriel had explained that he’d taken out Dean to try to stop the Apocalypse before it could even get close to going. He said he’d believed that Sam would be too grief-stricken to continue hunting, and then wouldn’t get conned into killing Lillith. Finally, he’d screamed that it had all been done out of love for his brothers.

Unfortunately, by then it was already too late for Gabriel. Lucifer, satisfied that he had the whole story now, had finished sawing through his wings, then took his brother’s Grace for good measure. If Gabriel ever picked his head up again, Sam was sure he’d still be able to see the thin silver scar on his neck.

But the all-too-human being in front of him never looked up. He climbed the few stairs before sinking to his knees, holding the tray high above his head for Lucifer.

_ Oh, Gabriel, _ Sam thought for the hundredth time, _ if only you’d told me why… _

Because Dean’s death had had the exact opposite effect on Sam. The younger Winchester became even more obsessed with getting his brother back. He’d swallowed every honeyed-poison word that dripped from Ruby’s lips just like the gallons of demon blood she’d had him swilling, shoved his conscience and better sense aside as she repeatedly swore to all four points on the compass that killing Lillith was the only way to get Dean back. Singularly focused on her dark crusade, he’d ignored everything stirred up by the breaking of The Seals, thrown aside anyone and everyone who couldn’t--or in the case of Bobby and the Harvelles, wouldn’t--help him, and did exactly what Gabriel had tried to stop him from doing. 

If Sam had eyes, he would have cried in pity and self-loathing.

“Would you like me to let you cry, Sam? Would it make you feel aww bettuh?” Lucifer simpered like a small child. He snatched the bottle from Gabriel’s tray and took long swallows until the bottle was drained.

“Ah, that’s refreshing!” he exclaimed dramatically when he finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaving a bright red smear along the knuckles. Frowning, Lucifer leaned forward to wipe off the ichor on his brother when a commotion from the door caught his attention.

Both Sam and Satan watched as a large group of demons dragged a struggling angel forward. The new arrival fought against his captors like a cornered animal. His trenchcoat, tie, and white button-down were smeared liberally with blood, as were his hands and face. 

“Well, well, well...if it isn’t Castiel,” the fallen angel crowed, his pleasure evident in every syllable. Meanwhile, the last of Sam’s meager hopes gasped their last.

For weeks, Sam had listened in while the demons brought Lucifer reports of Heaven’s last big push, all being led by a simple soldier who had taken command once news of Michael’s death spread. This Castiel was sending multiple and varied squads of angels against Lucifer, trying to find ways through his defenses in order to hopefully vanquish him. 

Bloody lone survivors had been stumbling in, reporting on the ferocious fights and the heavy casualties the demons were taking. Sam had soaked up every last syllable, gaining strength in the idea that this angel could win where so many others had failed.

If Sam had wrists, he would have slit them in absolute anguish.

Lucifer strode towards his enemy, triumph running through every fiber of their shared being. Reaching forward, he gripped the struggling angel’s chin roughly and forced Castiel to face him. The captive angel’s eyes were sapphire blue and full of rage as he stared Lucifer down, but the Morning Star merely laughed.

“You’ve been quite the thorn in my side, Castiel. Naughty, naughty.”

If Sam had feet, he would have stepped back from the cold fury now on Castiel’s face.

“You have to be stopped, Lucifer,” he growled in a raspy voice. “What you’re doing to the planet, to the people on it--”

Lucifer’s laugh was deep and loud, ringing out through the room as he threw his head back. It only lasted a moment, though, before he was crowding in even closer, menace replacing mirth. “None of you fluffy do-gooders get it, Castiel. I want to break Daddy’s toys.” He was now nose-to-nose with the dark-haired being. “All. Of. Them.”

With another mood swing, Lucifer pecked a quick kiss on the end of Castiel’s nose and stepped back. “Strip him,” he ordered the demons clutching his brother before calling over his shoulder. “Oh, Jo-ooooh! My angel blade, if you’d be so kind.”

From another small office emerged Jo Harvelle. Sam tried desperately to close their shared eyes, but Lucifer was having none of it. He made Sam take in her nakedness, let Sam feel the pleasure stirring in their body at the sight of all the bruises--new and old--on her pale skin. Lucifer made every mark in repeated attempts to beat the defiance out of the feisty young woman, forcing Sam to watch each blow of their hands as they landed. Shackles on her delicate wrists were attached to a stout dog collar by a slender chain, limiting her range of movement and forcing her to hold the angel blade in front of her face. 

If Sam had a stomach, he would have puked at the sight. 

Luckily for Sam, Lucifer shifted their focus to the slender brunette behind Jo, holding the leash attached to Jo’s collar. Unluckily, Sam felt arousal spike in their shared body.

_ Bela. Of all the women you could have-- _

“Oh come on, Sam. The disembodied soul squatting in my head doth protest too much, methinks,” Lucifer whispered back cheekily. “Can’t lie to me, boy. I can see right through you.”

Once upon a time, Sam had harbored some hidden thoughts about bedding Bela, but he’d never intended to act on it. Sure, it probably would have been fun, but one-night stands that end with him in jail--or worse--weren’t high on his “to-do” list.

Lucifer, though...when he’d found Sam soon after being sprung, the human had been in dire straits. Weak from the energy it took to defeat Lillith and knocked more than low by the realization of what he’d done, Sam was desperate to fix what he’d broken. Lucifer asked Sam to be his vessel, and he’d immediately said yes, thinking he could take Lucifer down from the inside and make everything alright again.

Then the fallen angel stripped his mind bare and Sam knew he was grossly outmatched. Lucifer used everything he knew to keep Sam beaten down and off-kilter, preventing him from making any real headway towards gaining control. 

Sam had started making a finger twitch, so Lucifer made him watch as he killed Bobby.

Sam started to be able to control their breathing, so Lucifer ordered the Harvelles brought to him for torture. Ellen didn’t survive. Jo had actually died as well--a few times--but every time the involuntary feeling of relief from Sam that her suffering was at least over prompted the angel to bring her back for more.

Sam actually stopped Lucifer from speaking, so the devil sent down to Hell for Bela’s soul. He broke her contract, restored her body, and then made Sam participate in a host of explicit adult activities that were somehow worse than the killing and torture. 

Grateful for her release and enjoying her new status as Lucifer’s booty call, Bela eagerly took on responsibility for keeping Jo in line. The bitch was even swinging the leash like a jump rope as they made their way over.

“Oh, goody,” Bela purred, pressing herself against their chest. “You bagged yourself a new pet, My Lord.”

Lucifer slid a hand to the back of Bela’s neck and pulled her roughly into a passionate kiss not exactly fit for public consumption.

If Sam had a throat, he would have cleared it loudly and obviously.

Breaking apart with a loud smack, Lucifer smiled down at Bela and snatched his angel blade from Jo’s hands. “Thank you, my dears,” he said to both women, leering broadly at the picture they made. “Now, stand back, please, ladies. Things are about to get messy.”

As Lucifer turned back toward Castiel, Sam saw Bela yank Jo’s leash roughly out of the corner of his eye. He wished like Hell he could do something,  _ anything _ , to help her.

All thoughts of Jo’s plight flew out of his head when he took in Castiel. The angel’s vessel was fair skinned, easily showing the lean muscle covering every single inch of his body. Given the amount of blood on his clothes and face, Sam was surprised to see very little in the way of wounds on Castiel.

_ Most of that blood wasn’t his. Nice. _

“Shut up, Sam. Now, what to do about this piece of filth before me…” The fallen angel tapped the point of the angel blade against his lips as he feigned thinking; Sam knew his mind was already made up, and he wasn’t looking forward to being witness to any of it.

Tilting his head slightly, Lucifer smiled. “I think Bela has it right. I think you will make an excellent pet, Castiel.”

Sam couldn’t believe someone naked and being held by multiple demons could look that threatening, but Castiel managed it. “I will never yield to you, Lucifer.”

Another belly laugh reverberated around the room. “Oh, Cass, you do make me laugh.” Lucifer pretended to wipe away a tear, then struck with deadly speed. 

A sigil bloomed in blood on Castiel’s chest, then burned with a white-hot light. He fought it valiantly, but Castiel couldn’t hold back a scream at what had to be immense pain. Sam watched in fascination as two large, black wings manifested behind Castiel, nearly knocking over many of the demons restraining him. 

“There’s a pretty little birdy,” Lucifer said with a smirk. “Someone bring me a cage for my new pet.” He stepped closer to Castiel, clearly delighting in the angel’s suffering. A strong hand flashed forward, pale fingers tangling in already-messy black hair as Lucifer yanked Castiel’s head up. “Wouldn’t want Polly to fly away, now would I?”

Moments later, two demons came forward from a far corner of the room, carrying a heavy, ornate gilded cage between them. Carved on every available surface was sigils, glyphs, runes, and anything else one could possibly use to weaken and enslave an angel. While large, it clearly wasn’t big enough for Castiel to be inside comfortably.

At the sight of the cage, Castiel seemed to find renewed strength, but all the struggling made no difference. He still ended up crammed inside the cage, Lucifer slamming the gate closed with a flourish. 

Lucifer smiled broadly, then retreated to the dais, waving their hands grandly. “Alright, everyone out. I want some peace and quiet while I admire my new addition.” Plopping down in his throne, they watched as everyone scurried to obey, even Bela. 

The room emptied, and the silence that followed was only broken by the rustling of Castiel’s wings as he tried to find a comfortable position. It seemed to Sam that Castiel deflated more than a little, and despair began to glimmer in his deep blue eyes. It suddenly occurred to him that the angel’s capture probably meant the end of angelic resistance.

He felt their smile twist into a wry smirk. “Occurred to me too, Sammy.” Folding his hands behind his head, Lucifer leaned back and sighed with contentment.

If Sam had a mouth, he would never stop apologizing. To Castiel, to Jo, to anyone and everyone who would listen...or who was left to, anyway.


End file.
